


Purr Omens

by PearlButterfly



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cat Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cat Crowley (Good Omens), F/M, M/M, Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlButterfly/pseuds/PearlButterfly
Summary: Crowley would be the first to admit he wasn't too fond of the new cat when he first came to live in the cottage. However, distaste turns to friendship turns to love turns to kittens (with lots of adventuring along the way).
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 203





	Purr Omens

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale  
> https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/181621797451338295/
> 
> Crowley (top image)  
> https://hsnaples.org/national-black-cat-day/

It was Anathema’s idea to adopt another cat. When she’d settled down with Newt in Jasmine Cottage they’d celebrated the end of their housewarming by going to the nearest shelter and adopting their first pet. Newt had been pretty keen on it being a cat, what with the way he said the dog that belonged to the kid down the street glared at him every time he walked past.

The cat was officially named Anthony but was usually referred to as Crowley. The nickname was Newt’s idea, half because he thought the cat’s dark furred and sharp clawed body was particularly crow-like, and half because he found it weird to give human names to pets.

Anathema thought that maybe Crowley was jealous of the new cat. He’d always acted totally aloof and uninterested in any affection from her or Newt but really he liked nothing better than to curl up beside her on the sofa and have his neck scratched. Nonetheless, he’d soon grow used to the new pet being in the house.

They named the new cat Aziraphale. Newt wasn’t sure what the name meant but Anathema had taken one look at the animal and said, “yes, definitely Aziraphale”. The cat was smaller than Crowley but a lot fluffier, with eyes like blue marbles. Quite a shy animal but eager enough to snuggle up for petting and cuddles when they were offered. Anathema expressed to her boyfriend that she was very happy with how their brood was growing.

Crowley decided that he didn’t like having to share the cottage or his owners with this new cat. He liked his own space and he didn’t trust Aziraphale. He never trusted cats who were as preened and groomed as that. And he was sure there was some sort of favouritism going on. Yes, he did knock over the vases of flowers Anathema kept around the house or the piles of books Newt had carefully organised ninety percent of the time, but he still seemed to get the blame even on the uncommon occasion that it was actually Aziraphale’s fault. That was some kind of injustice that Crowley just wouldn’t stand for.

Luckily, Aziraphale had his own favourite spots that he stuck to. He liked to laze about on the window seat, especially when it was sunny outside, napping contentedly in the warm afternoons. He’d found a spot that he could squeeze into beside the bookcase which he liked to use for privacy when he was bathing himself. Crowley wasn’t too bothered about who saw him grooming himself but Aziraphale was weirdly shy, maybe even a little insecure about the extra weight he had on his body. He didn’t seem as adjusted to the world as Crowley, who liked to go out climbing up trees and sauntering down alleyways. Aziraphale was more of a house cat, only venturing as far as the front garden for some fresh air, and even then he’d just fall asleep in the sun again.

But Aziraphale’s love for sleeping around the house infuriated Crowley at times. Times like this one.

“Move,” Crowley hissed, narrowing his yellow eyes at the chubby white cat.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale sounded half asleep already, curled up on the rug.

“That’s where I sleep, you’ll have to move,” Crowley told him.

Aziraphale frowned, and if Crowley wasn’t such a demon-possessed cat he might have cooed at the other animal. “But you can sleep next to me.”

“I don’t sleep next to you, I sleep there.” Crowley decided that this new pet was stupid. There was no other explanation.

But Aziraphale did move from Crowley’s favourite spot, looking a bit sorry for himself. “Fine, I’m sorry for stealing your spot.”

Crowley laid down and curled up contentedly. But just before he slipped into sleep he felt something nudging up to him and opened his eyes to find Aziraphale plastered to his side. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The other cat purred softly. “This is comfortable.”

The black cat wasn’t having any of it, shoving Aziraphale with his paw so that he was sent rolling a few steps away. Then he laid down again to sleep. But when he woke up the next morning and found Aziraphale asleep against him, he somehow didn’t have the heart to push him away again.

Often Crowley went out of the house to meet up with the gang of strays he’d found himself involved with when he’d sauntered vaguely down the street in the village and bumped into three cats stealing leftovers from a bin. There was Beelzebub, a fellow black cat with unwashed fur which seemed to be attracting all sorts of flies. They were the undoubted leader of the small group. Then there was Ligur, a ginger cat with a glare that said he didn’t trust Crowley, the only non-stray of the group. And finally Hastur, a white and black cat who always seemed to smell rather unpleasant, what with dustbins being a second home to him. He didn’t trust Crowley either and they’d had many a tussle with claws drawn. Crowley won most of the time, of course.

They all went out hunting for prey together, each competing for the biggest kill, be it mice, birds or beetles. They were like four shadows, lurking around corners or up trees, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Crowley slunk down the street as evening was falling, taking his time on his way to their usual meeting place. Around the corner, perched on top of an upturned bin with Hastur and Ligur down below, was Beelzebub.

The other black cat glared at him. “Where have you been?”

Crowley shrugged a shoulder, sauntering up to the others. “I’m here now.”

Ligur scoffed. “It’s that house cat lifestyle of his, making him soft.”

“I’m not soft,” Crowley hissed, eyes flaring.

“I’ll tell you what is soft,” Hastur said, “that new cat I always see sleeping on your front lawn. Now that’sa house cat.”

“Do we need to pay him a visit?” Beelzebub asked. They were a bit obsessed with power, wanting to either recruit other cats in the village or threaten them into submission.

“No,” Crowley said firmly. “Stay away from Aziraphale.”

“Got a little crush on the house cat, have you?” Hastur replied. “No, I don’t think we need to go over there. That thing is probably only awake three times a day: once for each meal.”

“Can you just shut up about him,” Crowley told them.

Thankfully, Beelzebub had important news to depart. “I’ve just heard about a rat infestation at one of the houses at the end of the lane. Now, if we can find where they’re getting into the house, we can intercept them.”

“Think of all the kills,” Ligur mused. “And we’d be sorting out the problem for the humans too. We won’t get any thanks though. I don’t understand your weird fascination with them, Crowley.”

Crowley ignored the jibe. “Then let’s get up to the house now and start the hunt.”

While Crowley was off hunting, Aziraphale was waking up from his evening nap, licking his paws to clean them. He stretched his front legs out, eyes scrunching up. There was nothing he liked more than a nap before dinner. Soon, his wonderful owners would call him inside, give him a bowl of food and then let him lie on the sofa between them while they read and scratched him between the ears.

He really was living the life.

He wasn’t sure if Crowley would be back for dinner, what with the other cat seeming to enjoy roaming about the village until late. Aziraphale was a bit dismayed at this thought. Sure, he didn’t know if Crowley liked him all that much, though the other cat had warmed to him a bit, but Aziraphale did like having some company when Anathema and Newt were out.

There was the sound of the garden gate opening and the white cat looked up in the hope that his companion had returned home.

Instead, he was faced with a group of larger cats that all seemed to have an air of importance about them. He remembered Crowley mentioning them once when Aziraphale had asked about other neighbourhood cats.

These four belonged to the mysterious woman a few doors down who no one ever seemed to see, though they did hear her voice now and again. There was Uriel, a tortoiseshell cat with particularly glittery golden hairs across their face. Then there was Sandalphon, a grey cat with fairly harsh eyes. The second in command of the group was Michael, a white cat who was a lot less fluffy than Aziraphale. And the group’s leader was Gabriel, a lighter grey cat than Sandalphon with white streaks through his fur.

They were all looking at him.

“So, this is the new cat in the village?” Gabriel said, stalking towards Aziraphale like a predator, the other three following behind him.

“I’m Aziraphale,” the smaller cat replied. “Can I help you?”

“We just wanted to meet you,” Michael added, light eyes looking him up and down.

“Well, hello!” Aziraphale wasn’t the most social of animals but he was very polite and he welcomed the idea of making friends with other local cats. “You caught me just in time, I was about to head inside for dinner.”

“That might not be a bad thing, to make you miss dinner,” Gabriel said.

“What?” Aziraphale felt distraught at the idea of missing a meal. Such wonderful food! He couldn’t bear the thought of it going to waste.

“You’ve clearly had far too many of those already,” the larger cat replied, coming closer to Aziraphale and pushing a paw against his stomach.

Aziraphale rolled away. “Go away!”

“What’s wrong? Are you scared?” Sandalphon asked. “Well, look at that. A cat with no nerve.” Sandalphon himself was famous among the neighbourhood cats for all his deadly threats to smite them if they crossed him.

“No,” Aziraphale said, standing up on his four legs, attempting to make his small, fluffy body look intimidating.

“Don’t think your boyfriend with the dark fur will get you special treatment or protect you,” Uriel told him. “Everyone knows he’s trouble and it’s only a matter of time before your owners kick him out to live with the strays, where he belongs.”

“They would never do that!” Aziraphale knew, logically, that they wouldn’t do that. Anathema and Newt loved Crowley, they were just less affectionate with him because he was such an aloof type of cat, not as welcoming to their nightly snuggles as Aziraphale was. And no matter how many dead animals he dragged into the cottage, they would never get rid of him.

“Don’t be too sure,” Gabriel warned him. “Humans are fickle beings. One day they’ll be throwing out that cat for being too much trouble and then the next they’ll be throwing out you. Indeed, it must be hard for them to pretend to love such a fat, poor excuse for a cat.”

Aziraphale turned tail and ran back to the cottage door, squeezing through the cat flap. He’d never noticed before that it was more difficult for him to get his body through it than it was for Crowley, though Gabriel’s harsh words made him think about it for longer than he’d wanted to.

Newt laid out his bowl and scratched him absentmindedly behind the ear, leaving him to eat. Aziraphale could only manage a few mouthfuls before he felt he should stop eating, not wanting to make himself fatter than he already was.

He heard his owners settling down on the sofa together to read, which was usually his cue to jump up between them and receive scratches and strokes, but he thought he’d do something more useful. He began to pad up and down the hallway, gradually speeding up, trying to get some exercise. No wonder Crowley was so thin, he was always out and about. He only managed about ten lengths of the hallway before he got too tired to continue and fell asleep by the front door.

He was awoken by Crowley slipping in for the night, almost tripping right over the other cat. “What a stupid place to sleep,” the black cat remarked. “Honestly, don’t you have a brain?”

Usually, Aziraphale would have twigged that Crowley was just joking, teasing him, but after his encounter earlier he crumpled at the thought of Crowley looking down on him too. He lay down and wrapped his front paws around his head.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley began, “what’s wrong? Is it what I said? Just ignore me, you know I’m joking. Aziraphale?”

“They called me fat!” The other cat said, distraught. “And- and they said I’m a poor excuse for a cat and that you won’t protect me and that we’ll both get kicked out and-“

“Slow down, angel,” Crowley hushed him, the nickname coming naturally. After all, who could look at Aziraphale and not think he was an angel? “Who said that?”

“Those other house cats,” Aziraphale whined. “Gabriel and Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon.”

“Them?” Crowley was a cat but that growl sounded almost rough enough to belong to a dog. “I’ll kill them.”

“No, Crowley! There’s so many of them! And I don’t want you to make Anathema and Newt mad, otherwise if they think you’re too much trouble they might throw you out.”

“Angel, don’t believe a word Gabriel and his gang of assholes say, they’re just trying to assert dominance over you. I rejected them in favour of hanging out with strays and they’ve been pissed at me ever since. None of what they said is true, they’re just trying to hurt you because they want to get at me.”

“So… so it’s okay for me to eat my dinner? And to sleep on the lawn? And we won’t get thrown out of this delightfully warm and cosy cottage?”

“I promise that everything will be fine and things will never change,” Crowley said, leading the way to the kitchen. “Now, you should finish off your food and then we can go to sleep by the fire.”

Aziraphale practically launched himself at the bowl, snaffling down almost all of the food and then pushing the bowl towards Crowley. No food had been left out for him because his owners assumed he would be catching his own dinner as he liked to do, and true, he had, but he’d only have to go to them and whine before they’d happily get him some food too. But it was a sweet gesture on Aziraphale’s part, so Crowley finished the other cat’s last few mouthfuls of dinner, unable to argue with those sky blue eyes watching him.

It was about a week later when Crowley asked if Aziraphale would like to join him for a walk. “It’s still light and it is a lovely day, after all.”

“But- but I’ve never been past the garden gate,” Aziraphale said. “Won’t it be dangerous?”

“Not at all, angel. And besides, I’ll be right there with you.” Crowley paused. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I just thought it might be nice to get out of the house for a bit.”

Crowley himself hadn’t been out of the house all week. He’d chosen to spend that time with the other cat, napping together, eating together, exploring all the new hiding places they could find together. It had been nice. He liked Beelzebub, Hastur and Ligur well enough, even though they always seemed to think the worst of him, but Aziraphale was completely different. He was an intelligent animal and Crowley greatly enjoyed spending time with him.

“Okay,” Aziraphale agreed. “We can go for a walk. But let’s get lunch first.”

So both cats headed to the kitchen and meowed until they were given their food early.

“They must be planning something,” Newt whispered. “They’ve been so in sync all week, it’s freaky.”

“Yes, there must be some new developments happening,” mused Anathema, who always liked to know what was going on. “I’ll have to study them before I can be sure.”

Once they’d finished their food and Aziraphale had taken the opportunity to give himself a quick bath, the two humans watched the two cats slip through the cat flap and then through the garden gate.

“Wait, should Aziraphale be out there?” Newt asked. “I mean, he’s only a house cat, can he survive in the real world? He won’t burst into flames, will he?”

Anathema hummed. “This just gets curiouser.”

Meanwhile, Crowley was leading Aziraphale through the village, showing him all his favourite spots. Aziraphale was amazed by everything, from the size of some of the cottages to how to cobbled roads felt under his feet. He was enchanted by the lovely smells coming from the bakery, leading to Crowley stealing some freshly baked bead for him while the baker was distracted. He delighted in seeing his angel so happy.

Aziraphale jumped in alarm when they saw the kid from down the street out with his dog on a lead but Crowley gave a hiss, threatening to smack the dog on the nose if he ever came near Aziraphale.

“That thing is a hell hound,” Crowley said when they’d passed them.

“I think he seemed quite sweet,” Aziraphale replied. “I mean, cats don’t like dogs but that one seemed like he couldn’t hurt a fly.”

They had a lovely day, touring the village together. Well, it was lovely, until they happened to round a corner and bump into the four realhell hounds who had been mean to Aziraphale the week before. The cats were sitting up on a wall, looking down on them.

“Well, look at that,” Uriel started. “Out for a walk, are we?”

“Ignore them, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, wanting to hurry on past without any bother. He didn’t do well with confrontation, which was why he usually kept to himself.

But Crowley did do well with confrontation. In fact, he delighted in it. “That’s very big of you all, ganging up on other animals and threatening them. You should come and play with the strays some time. You know, Beelzebub and the others.”

Gabriel flinched at the name. “That filthy street cat and their cronies? The village will be much better off when they’ve been driven away. Them and the other troublemakers who consort with them.”

“Are you challenging me, Gabriel?” Crowley asked, leaping effortlessly up to land on the wall next to the grey cat. “Because you fight well but I fight dirty.”

“Leave the traitor,” Michael said to Gabriel. “He’s a traitor to all house cats, he’s not one of us.”

“Luckily not all house cats are like you lot,” Crowley hissed back at her, looking down to Aziraphale. He was alarmed to find Sandalphon stalking towards the smaller cat.

“You like to consort with traitors, hmm?” He directed towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was crowded against the wall. “What? N-no. And Crowley isn’t a traitor. As a matter of fact he happens to be a very nice, friendly, though somewhat standoffish, member of the feline community.”

Sandalphon tutted and then stepped on Aziraphale’s front left paw, making the smaller cat whimper. Crowley had seen enough and darted down off the wall, pushing Sandalphon over. Then he hissed up at the others, bearing his remarkably sharp front teeth.

“Leave him alone!” The words were ominous, holding a dark promise if they didn’t do as he said.

Sandalphon began to slink away, the other three cats sniffing in disdain and hopping daintily down from the wall to follow him.

Crowley turned back to Aziraphale. “Are you okay, angel?”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale replied. “In fact I actually found it strangely arousing to watch. I mean watching you protect me, not Sandalphon-“

“No, of course not,” Crowley said quickly, not wanting to hear the words ‘Sandalphon’ and ‘arousing’ in the same sentence. “So… if you wanted, I could do something about that.”

“How could you- oh.” Aziraphale looked up shyly, blue eyes widened in that expression he always used to get something. “I think I would quite like that.”

“We’d better get home then, hadn’t we?”

“I think we should, right away.”

The two chased each other back up the lane, Crowley deliberately slowing down to match Aziraphale’s pace. The white cat brushed against him, happily infecting Crowley with his pheromones. When they shot through the cat flap, one after another, they found their owners passed out asleep on the sofa, leaning against each other, books open on their laps.

Crowley continued to lead the other cat through the house, body practically vibrating with excitement. He’d been admiring Aziraphale from afar for so long and now they’d get to be together. There was just one thing that was bothering him.

“Your scent,” he said, sniffing at the other cat. “There’s something about it that I just can’t identify.”

“Oh, really…”

Crowley leaned down to sniff Aziraphale again. “Wait… you’re a girl cat?”

Aziraphale shrugged, daintily licking a paw. “Does that matter?”

Thinking about it, Crowley shrugged. “Not to me. So, do you want to do this in the basket or on the rug or outside in a bush?”

“Not outside!” Aziraphale sounded scandalised. “Someone could see us!”

“I’d love it if those asshole cats down the street saw me making you mine. I’ll make sure they know, that way they’ll know to stay away from you or I’ll have to tear them all to bits.”

“Oh,” the white cat ducked his head bashfully. “Well, I suppose that would be quite nice. But I think on the rug? Yes, it’s nice and comfortable there.”

And it was very comfortable indeed.

The first sign that their copulation had come to something more happened in the first two weeks after it when Aziraphale’s appetite increased. He’d always had a fairly large appetite so at first it wasn’t too noticeable, but then he began to steal Crowley’s food when the other cat wasn’t looking (though sometimes Crowley did notice and didn’t do anything except smile fondly and pretend he wasn’t looking) and Anathema thought that was odd. After all, Aziraphale was a kind cat and wouldn’t deliberately seek to deprive his fellow pet of food.

It was exactly fifteen days later when Aziraphale threw up twice inside the cottage: once in the morning on the kitchen floor and once on the rug at just past lunchtime.

“I think Aziraphale’s sick,” Anathema told Newt. “I’m going to take him to the vet’s, you follow behind in your car.”

She still preferred to stick to her bicycle when travelling alone, although Newt’s car came in handy for longer journeys and when they were travelling together (as faulty as it may be). Aziraphale was very averse to the car though, having screamed on the backseat for entire journeys before Anathema decided that the best way to transport him would be in the basket of her bicycle. Newt tutted that she gave in too easily and that it wasn’t like Dick Turpin could go very fast anyway, but she insisted he stop being so insensitive to the feelings of their latest fur baby.

So, she cycled to the nearest vet’s with Newt following behind. He had Crowley for company, since the black cat adored sitting up front in the car, pressed close to the radio, screaming only in delight. Newt kept looking at him out the corner of his eye, concerned that their first cat may have been possessed by a Queen-loving, thrill-seeking demon. Despite this, they made it to the vet’s in one piece, about five minutes behind Anathema on her bicycle.

She was sitting in the waiting room with Aziraphale on her knee, purring happily as she ruffled his fluffy fur. Newt walked in and sat down next to her, Crowley trotting along behind him and settling by their feet, gazing up at the angelic cat above him. When they were called in, Aziraphale was given an ultrasound which confirmed that he was indeed expecting kittens. Newt was shocked but Anathema wasn’t, even if neither of them had known that Aziraphale was actually a female cat. She said she’d predicted this from the beginning.

“And I don’t think we need to ask who the father is,” she whispered that evening, nodding to where the two cats were lying entwined on the rug by the fire.

“Well, technically we couldn’t ask,” Newt began. “You know, because they’re cats. And cats can’t talk.”

“They can,” she replied, deadpan.

Newt paused. “They can?”

“Yes, just not to us, although I have been trying to work out ways in which to communicate them. Thought you should know, I’m really close. So don’t freak out if you wake up one morning and come downstairs to find three cats.”

Newt had always thought his godfather, Shadwell, was a little crazy and overdramatic with his rants about witches. Now he wasn’t so sure.

On the other side of the cat world veil, Aziraphale was cleaning his paws, noticing Crowley staring at him. “What?”

The black cat shook his head, eyes not moving from his beloved angel. “I just like looking at you, angel. And imagine how big you’re going to be soon. I think you’re looking bigger already.”

Aziraphale looked down at his stomach. “I don’t think so. I’m just…fat.”

A hiss built in Crowley’s throat. “You’re not fat and you never have been. You look amazing and you’ll only look better when everyone can see you’re having my litter. That’ll wipe the smirk off Gabriel’s stupid face.”

“Please don’t get into any fights with him or any of the others, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Crowley puffed up his chest. “They couldn’t hurt me. I’d destroy them all in a fight.”

Aziraphale snuggled up against him, purring without even realising it. Yes, he was going to enjoy this. He had Crowley, he had his owners, and soon he was going to have a litter of kittens to look after as well.

Crowley had already vowed to himself that he would be a good father and always be there for Aziraphale. And if he ever woke up and found one of their babies missing and a suspiciously new-sounding engine in Newt’s car then all Hell was going to break loose.

Aziraphale did get big, his body expanding to make room for the kittens inside him. There had to be at least four, although there could very easily be more. Aziraphale was a bit upset that he now had to sleep on his side because he couldn’t lie on his front anymore, but he soon found it felt quite nice to have Crowley’s furry, snakelike body curled around him from behind. He felt protected from all angles, warm and loved.

He only felt anxious when he noticed those cats from down the road, Gabriel and the others, watching him whenever he lazed about on the front porch. They didn’t enter the garden again, probably intimidated by the black cat standing guard in front of him, ensuring that Aziraphale got to rest in peace in the early afternoon sunshine.

“What happens,” Newt asked Anathema one day while they were drying the dishes from dinner, “you know, when the… when they start coming out? Do we have to help Aziraphale push and cut the umbilical cords and wrap the kittens in towels?”

Anathema looked down at where the two cats were eating from their bowls. Well, Aziraphale was eating from both of their bowls, Crowley was simply watching and nudging the food closer to the pregnant cat.

“We won’t have to do anything,” she assured him. “Cats rarely require human help when they give birth. Aziraphale will know what to do and we will only have to take him to the vet if he seems to be struggling or in too much pain. Anthony will likely be there to help, seeing as he is already such a dedicated father. I’m going to listen in on them and see if I can decipher what his meows mean.”

“What his meows mean?”

“You know, if they mean ‘push’ or ‘you’re doing well’ or ‘it’s a boy’.”

Newt made a mental reminder to invite Shadwell and his lovely wife Tracy over for dinner soon.

One night, after Aziraphale was curled up, sound asleep in the cat basket, Crowley snuck out, slipping through the cat flap and finding his way to the usual alleyway. The other three cats were already there, prowling around, sharing a piece of rotten fish.

“Well, look who it is,” Ligur greeted him.

“Haven’t seen you out for a while, Crowley,” Hastur added. “Would that be because you knocked up the house cat and ever since then you’ve been playing house with him?”

“The kittens weren’t planned,” Crowley began, “but yes, they are going to happen. Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for. I need your help.”

“Why should we help you?” Beelzebub stalked up to him, teeth bared threateningly. “You’ve done hardly anything for us since you got with that-“ they sniffed derisively, “-house cat.”

“Because,” Crowley stepped closer, lowering his voice, “I know where you can find a tree full of birds who’ve just migrated to the village. Help me out and I’ll tell you where it is.”

The strays looked at each other, clearly not trusting him but enticed by the thought of that much prey. “Well, I suppose we could help you,” Beelzebub began.

“But you’d better not be lying,” Hastur growled, leaning into Crowley’s face.

“Now what did you want us to do?” Ligur asked.

Crowley grinned. “I want to scare the shit out of some house cats. You know, those four down the lane.”

Beelzebub hissed, spine curving upwards. “I get Gabriel, no arguments. Arrogant asshole house cat, thinking he can tread all over me. Well, not anymore!”

Yes, Crowley had definitely enlisted the right cats for the job.

They crouched outside the cottage, waiting for Gabriel to lead the troops out for their nightly scouring of the perimeters. He didn’t understand why the mysterious owner woman who no one ever saw didn’t just do that. His own owners made sure the doors and windows were all locked before retiring to bed and nothing bad had ever happened.

Sure enough, the four cats came prowling out, dispersing out to their own corners of the garden. Ligur launched himself out of the shadows before any of them could so much as blink, always overly eager. Michael yowled in surprise, leaping almost a foot off the ground. She turned and ran, not making it to the cat flap before Ligur was diving on her.

Beelzebub took that as the starting pistol, not pulling any punches before they were upon Gabriel, overturning the larger cat. Crowley wasn’t paying much attention as he slipped through the hedge himself but he was pretty sure he heard hisses off ‘you slimy bastard’ followed by Gabriel’s frightened whines of ‘get off me at once you flea-ridden scoundrel!’.

Hastur had chased Uriel across the other side of the garden, leaving Crowley to deal with Sandalphon. He bared his teeth, easily outrunning his prey. Knocking him to the ground, he hissed at him.

“You enjoyed hurting Aziraphale, didn’t you?”

“N-no,” Sandalphon replied. “I didn’t mean to do it, I’m sorry!”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to show you what might happen if you ever accidentallydo it again, does it?”

An hour later, four house cats slinking back through the cat flap with their tails both literally and metaphorically between their legs, Crowley directed the strays to the tree full of new birds. They offered him nods of thanks and then he left, knowing that there would be piles of feathers on the grass come morning.

Soon, Aziraphale went into labour. Both Anathema and Newt were out at the time, not expecting the kittens to be born for at least a few days, so he was stressed.

“What if something goes wrong?” He asked Crowley. “What if I need to go to the vet? I’d even be willing to overlook that metal death trap and be driven in it, if I knew it was there.”

“Nothing will go wrong, angel,” Crowley reassured him. “And anyway, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Aziraphale groaned. “I am currently giving birth Crowley, I don’t want to help you demonstrate how we can both squeeze inside the pantry and copulate next to the assorted pasta.”

“No, angel, not that. Come with me to your nest.”

“The nest? Oh Crowley, it isn’t finished!”

“Just come with me quickly before you stop being able to move.”

Aziraphale paused at the sight of the nest. “Oh, wow.”

Crowley had finished off building the nest when Aziraphale became too large to do it himself. The cardboard box had been completely flattened out, except for the back wall of it, and Crowley had haphazardly dragged a blanket into it. There was also a pillow for Aziraphale to rest against as well, Crowley knowing exactly what his angel enjoyed to feel comfortable.

“Come in, you need to be settled for when they come,” Crowley said, ushering the other cat inside.

Aziraphale got into the right position, eyes squeezed shut as he bore down to birth the kittens. And Crowley did indeed meow-say ‘push’ and ‘you’re doing well’ and ‘it’s a boy’. He said that last one twice, and then he said ‘it’s a girl’ twice. Aziraphale broke the umbilical cords himself by biting them as cats did and then bathed the newborns to stimulate their breathing. When they were all detached and squirming they gravitated towards their mother, seeking out a food source.

Aziraphale lay on his side with all four of the kittens feeding from him, feeling utterly exhausted. He couldn’t think of anything better than a long nap by the fire with Crowley guarding him and their new litter. The black cat approached slowly, not wanting to disturb the kittens, and nuzzled his face against Aziraphale’s.

That was the moment Anathema and Newt found them, having got home five minutes before and combed the entire house looking for their two cats.

Anathema sighed wretchedly. “We missed it!”

“That’s a lot of kittens,” Newt commented. “You do realise we’re going to need four more litter trays now? We’ll have to empty six litter trays full of poo!”

“Shush Newt, we could never split up the happy family.”

Newt was eyeing Crowley warily. “I don’t like the look in his eyes. I bet he’s thinking about making Aziraphale pregnant again. And then there would be even more poo.”

Newt wasn’t wrong; Crowley was indeed thinking about how he loved seeing his angel so maternal and how much he already loved the litter they had created and how they should keep expanding it.

But he was also thinking about how he hadn’t eaten yet that day and was planning on yowling until he was fed.

Aziraphale was just happy that the kittens were born without any issue. And he wouldn’t mind a nice bowl of food either. He had earned it, after all.


End file.
